


Room For Three

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), bondlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bondlock, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Molly is Bond's cousin, Molly stands up for herself, Moneypenny loves gossip, Protective Sherlock, Q is a Holmes, humor toward the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:54:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Q is conflicted, Bond is guilty, Molly is heartbroken, and Sherlock is pissed. </p><p>Things never end well when both romance and family are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room For Three

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is the last Bondlock fic you're going to get for a long while, so enjoy it! I love this ship, and I am done building it, so it's time to send it into the ocean to sail on its own and I will return for it another day. (Maybe I'll do some 00Q...)
> 
> Anyway, Tobiismycat gets serious credit because, hell, the ending was based on the suggestion they posted on "One. Two. Three. Four." If you liked how I wrapped this up, thank them. 
> 
> Anyway anyway, enjoy and review~

“We need to talk.”

“I thought you weren’t fond of pillow talk.”

Q ran his hands over his face, wiping away the sweat that had gone cold on his skin. Usually that was true. Usually he refused to say a word to Bond, and they would lie in silence until one of them fell asleep so the other could slip away, allowing them to continue pretending that each night would be the last time and their consciences could be clear. For a while, it had worked. He would visit James’ bed one night and return to Molly’s loving arms the next. He kept telling himself that he would never sleep with 007 again, that there was no point in admitting anything to his girlfriend, that he had nothing to be guilty about. But there was only so much of even the sweetest lie that can be swallowed before it turns bitter. And this one was so bitter it was churning Q’s stomach. He sat up and put his specs back on from where they had been sitting on Bond’s nightstand, bringing the room into focus. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” he stated bluntly. “It’s going to break Molly’s heart.”

“Then she won’t find out,” James replied, running his hand across the back on Q’s neck in an attempt to lure him back down onto the bed. 

“We both know that excuse it wearing thin.”

James sighed and rolled onto his back, expelling a deep breath.

“I would do anything for her, but I’m not ready to give you up.”

This made Q startle. Night after night he assured himself that there was nothing but lust between them, just blowing off steam and having fun after missions. Bond always made a point to let him know that he was not another meaningless conquest, but nothing so endearing, or daresay, compromising. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” he scoffed, trying to hide his uneasiness. “Molly is your cousin. I am her boyfriend. That’s the end of the matter.”

He wished it truly was that simple. When James didn’t respond, he slipped out of bed and back into his clothes, checking the mirror to make sure his hair was in an acceptable state to go back to Molly’s flat, chewing his bottom lip almost the entire time. He was about to gather the rest of his things and leave when he felt a finger wrap around his belt loop. James was leaning up on his elbow, staring him down with the same piercing blue eyes that could seduce any woman in seconds. Well, every woman and Q. It was impossible to read his face or find any other hint of what he might be thinking, but after a few seconds the older agent grabbed his Quartermaster’s shirt collar and pulled him down into a deep kiss. Q wanted to fight back, to make a point that he was done, but unlike every other instance there was no lustful aggression or overwhelming passion. It was almost… gentle. Remarkably, uncharacteristically, gentle. It was James who slowly pulled away, leaving Q breathing heavily with his lips still parted. He tried to swallow the groan of disappointment fighting to claw its way loose. 

“Give my love to Molly,” he said flatly, as if he hadn’t just left Q standing breathless. 

Q couldn’t decide if he should walk away enamored or indignant.

***  
James glanced at the clock over the café door out of his peripherals. He was still an hour early to meet Molly for lunch, but he would need at least that to get his thoughts in order. He had entertained the idea of visiting her at the St. Bart’s or even her flat, but a quiet little spot seemed best. Not too private, not too public. His fingers were twitching, itching to wrap themselves around the nearest bottle of alcohol and down it just to see if it would calm his nerves even the slightest bit (he had intentionally picked a restaurant without a bar). As much as it hurt his pride to admit it, Q had been right. He had barely slept an hour since their last night together, mulling over everything his Quartermaster and the way he had responded, not at all like an operative who had on many occasions held the fate of the world in his hand should have, it could be noted. Their affair was going to break her heart, but she had a right to know. A right to make her own informed decisions on where to go with her life and who would be in it. Though he tried to keep the information suppressed for almost a year, he knew he had no business robbing her the facts she needed to make those choices. No matter how much he enjoyed his time with Q, Little Miss Molly mattered most. She was by no means still a child, but family came first. At least, that was the phrasing he used to convince himself this was the right thing to do.

Bond knew that no matter how this afternoon ended, someone would go home crushed, and that was with minimum casualties, counting himself. As of 1:24 p.m. Q still believed his private affair was secret knowledge while Molly still believed her boyfriend was loyal and cousin uninvolved. If the tube ran on time and the waiter was competent, at 1:40 none of that would remain the case, and it would all be James’ fault. Of course, it was his fault from the very beginning. If he had any sense of common decency he would have let Molly believe he stayed dead, not seduced his Quartermaster, or at the very least requested a new handler the moment he found out the latter parties had become romantically invested. Yet again his impulse was destroying another aspect of his life. Worse than that, destroying the fragile ties he had with the two people left on earth he truly cared about. Now there was the thought driving him to his next drink. 

Molly looked lovely, as she always did even after half a day working in a morgue. Her light ponytail and colorful clothes were only matched by the glimmer in her lip gloss and the smile it painted as she walked into the café and noticed him. James felt a piece of his soul, the same piece damaged by Vesper and by M, begin to crack. She was like a puppy, always happy to see him no matter what the circumstances. Molly knew he worked for MI6, but to her he would always be the older brother who saved her from bullies and break ups and bad days. Her eyes looked past the trigger-happy assassin he had grown to be and saw only the teenage boy of their childhoods, still running away for afternoon picnics in the woods. Being around Molly was a reprieve from the 007 mantle that had consumed his morals, his character, and his integrity, allowing him to pretend that everything was simpler and the world was a better place. The prospect of shattering the image he loved to assume to make them both happy was maddening. He cared about Q. God, more than cared. Q was the first person since Vesper to truly take root in the part of his heart that every human has, at least in some capacity, longing to be filled by a kindred soul and maybe call it love. The young man knew everything about him he tried to hide, accepted all of his flaws and sins in a way almost no one else could. The selfish side of James wanted to keep him for himself, relish in the comfort and passion they shared. Q deserved so much more than to have his sweetheart ripped out from under him by having his secrets flung into the open. But seeing Molly flounce through the front door reminded James that there was no more room for mistakes. Someone had to get hurt again. 

“It’s so good to see you, mon cher frère!” she exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight hug while using the elegant French his mother had worked so hard to instill in them before her death. 

“And always a pleasure, ma chère sœur,” he replied in as even a tone as possible as to not lead her on that this meeting was anything but somber. 

Molly almost immediately noticed his lack of a smile, and her own faded. 

“What’s wrong, James? Did something happen?”

He gestured for her to take a seat and placed a gentle hand on her wrist, being careful not to avert from her gaze. She deserved the unadulterated truth. 

“Molly, I need you to listen. Hear everything I have to say before you respond.”

She nodded. He took a very deep breath. 

It only took about ten minutes to explain the whole situation. How he had first ensnared Q while on a field mission in Siberia when he and Molly had just begun dating; how they met during and after operations under false identities and in grand hotels; how no matter what Q always wanted to go home to Molly; how it was the things that may be called love that kept James calling on him and the thing that was definitely called love that kept them far enough apart for Molly’s sake; that no matter what above all other things they both cared about her more than it all. The whole time, she listened to his instructions. Her hands clamped into fists around the tablecloth, her chest rose and fell in increasingly long breaths through her nose, and her eyes glazed over, but she didn’t respond. When he finished, she finally inhaled deeply with open lips.

However, it came out in short, shuttered bursts, like the sound a human makes when punched directly in the stomach. 

“I… I… I…” she stuttered between interrupted gasps. “I need to go.” 

She covered her mouth with both her hands and nearly sprinted out of the café. James simply dropped his head into his palm. He hoped that Molly’s heart was only chipped, because his was one tap away from shattering. 

***  
Molly usually liked listening to music when she cleaned. Musicals like Mamma Mia, Rent, and Hairspray were her favorites. It was something she made time for every weekend. No matter how much work St. Bart’s had slammed her with or how obnoxious Sherlock had been, taking a few hours to dance around her flat and singing softly while makings things tidy gave a sense of order to her life that seemed to make the rest of the world fall into balance. That was part of why working in a hospital worked so well for her. Everything had to be neat and clean. No mess could be left to chance. Sometimes they got big or scary or overwhelming, but humming “You Can’t Stop the Beat” made them seem more manageable. The music was a way of taking all of her enthusiasm and shooting her in the right direction. 

Not this time, though. This time, Molly didn’t even bother to plug in her CD player before going through her flat, picking up clothes, notebooks, and products, throwing them into piles and then sorting them into an assortment of boxes. The mess she was making made her head throb without so much as a single tune to work her through it, but she couldn’t bring herself to pick a song. Nothing she could choose would echo her thoughts well enough to channel her energy into her cleaning. Instead, she worked in silence, sniffling softly while Toby watched her inquisitively. Thank God she had managed to convince her supervisor to let her switch shifts to get off early, because every minute to get everything prepared and packed counted. Especially since right as she finished taping the last box closed, Q walked through the front door. 

“Molly, I-“ 

He stopped short, the look of relief and happiness that usually accompanied his returns after 12 hour days at Q-Branch quickly twisting into befuddlement at the sight of all his things stacked in the living room. Molly used a sleeve to wipe the tears off her face as she rose from kneeling next to the last one. She did nothing but stare at him for a moment, soaking in the horror of realization that was slowly creeping across his face. His eyes locked with hers. 

“Bond?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, biting her lip to keep more tears from flowing. It failed. Even though she couldn’t stop herself from crying, Molly took a deep breath. A lot of things had changed in her life over the past few years. The little girl who was pushed around by this detective and manipulated by that criminal had long ago been washed away by deadly lies and lost loves. Yes, a pain worse than the pang in her chest on the Christmas the middle Holmes brother rejected her now gripped her stomach, but that did not mean she was defenseless. 

“I am so sick of being abused,” she said through what was rising into sobs. “By Sherlock, by Moriarty, by Tom, and bloody hell I do not need it by you and James.”

“Please, Molly, I-“ Q started, reaching forward to embrace her, but she shoved the heels of her hands against his chest and pushed as hard as she could, sending him crashing against the wall. 

“Get out!” she shouted, all the sadness and rage finally overflowing. “Get out and leave me alone!”

At that point, Molly didn’t even realize what she started screaming or what he said back. It all melted into a haze of powerful and muddled emotions she couldn’t control. She couldn’t remember how long she stood there shrieking at him or what she finally did that got him to leave. It was as if everything she ever wanted to say to every man who ever caused her any slight joined together and exploded in that moment. When Q was gone, she finally came back to her senses to find herself curled in a ball on the floor next to the sofa, sobbing hysterically while Toby mewed at her face in concern. She didn’t know how long she stayed there or whether or not she faded in or out of sleep, but after an immeasurable amount of time, she heard her door open again. Despite her blurred vision and stinging eyes, she raised her head, ready to start screaming at Q again. But instead of the youngest Holmes standing over her, it was the middle one. Before she could even ask why he waltzed into her flat uninvited, he had her scooped up in his arms and dropped gently onto the sofa. 

“Don’t speak. I’ll make tea,” he stated bluntly when he noticed the confusion and daze in her eyes. 

Molly let her head fall against the soft arm of the couch, listening to Sherlock mutter under his breath while he toiled to figure out her kitchen and kettle. For a moment she mulled over the irony of the whole thing, but decided not to dwell on it. Even though she wasn’t really in a trusting mood, right now what she needed was a friend, and that’s who had appeared. It took nearly half an hour, but he eventually returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, and Molly accepted hers gratefully. Her eyes still stung from all the crying, but she smiled anyway. Returning from the dead made more of an impact on him than she had realized. 

“Now,” he said pointedly. “What has my idiot excuse of a brother done now?”

***  
Sherlock opened the door for Sherrinford, blinked twice, and then punched his little brother squarely in the jaw. It brought him an unexpected amount of satisfaction to see the young man stumble off his feet, clutching the site of the blow. Sherlock made sure it hadn’t been hard enough to cause any fracturing, but there would be lovely large bruise for the world to see and definitely some soreness for the next few days. He contained his joy to a small smirk.

“What the hell was that for?!” Sherrinford demanded, rubbing his wounded jaw. “I came because I need help.”

“She may have been your girlfriend, but Molly is first and foremost, my friend,” he growled. 

The youngest Holmes rolled his eyes and sighed.

“For god’s sake, I want to make it up to her,” he hissed. “It was one bloody huge mistake.”

“And now you need to sleep on my floor because she kicked you out. Not your smartest choice, brother mine,” he hummed, taking delight in the increasing amount of frustration in the way the younger genius clamped his teeth down on the left corner of his bottom lip. Terribly obvious anger tell he had even as a child. 

“But the real question is, why are you on my doorstep when you could be at your lover’s?”

A hint of pain shot through Sherrinford’s eyes.

“I’m not speaking to him at the moment,” he muttered bitterly.

It took Sherlock less than 10 seconds to deduce that it was 007 who had exposed their affair without asking for any permission or even giving a warning. Maybe if Sherrinford had been a total stranger he might have tried to at least imagine what sympathy might have been granted to him by a normal person (an exercise John and Mary had been pushing on him to try with clients), but no, he had given Molly all the sympathy he could muster. Even if he had any left, he was in no mood to share. He was just about to send him on his way when Mrs. Hudson appeared.

“Another client, Sherlock?” she asked in her usual nerve-grating cheer.

Sherlock huffed. He knew the minute she discovered their relation there would be no getting rid of his younger brother with the landlady’s ‘family is all we have in the end’ mentality. His obvious displeasure must have tipped Sherrinford off. The little sod may have been slow on the deduction scale compared to his older brothers, but was still sharp none the less.

“I’m actually his younger brother,” he chimed before Sherlock had a chance to make a smooth excuse. “I need a place to stay for the next few days, but, Sherlly was just explaining how he didn’t have any room.”

The counterfeit sweetness and innocence in Sherrinford’s voice made Sherlock seethe. He had Mycroft had done their jobs too well when they tried to mold him into the perfect miniature version of themselves. Disturbing, really. He could feel Mrs. Hudson’s glare drilling holes into the back of his skull.

“Well, dear, flat C has a bed in it if you need somewhere to sleep. Shame on you, Sherlock Holmes for turning away your own little brother!”

“Yes, yes, shame on me, I’m a terrible sibling, mummy and daddy always loved him best, dear god it never stops,” Sherlock grumbled, grabbing Sherrinford by the back of his cardigan and hauling him up the stairs into 221B. “We have a little chatting to do.”

Sherlock unceremoniously shoved his brother into the living room, quickly locking the door behind him just in case Mrs. Hudson felt the need to make another family values crack. Sherrinford indignantly straightened his tie and his spectacles as Sherlock settled into his arm chair, his judgmental gaze never leaving him. 

“Now, how are you going to beg Molly’s forgiveness? Personally, I don’t think she should forgive you, but that’s her choice, not mine.” 

He let out a groan of exasperation and dropped into John’s chair, massaging his temples with his thumbs. Little ticks and cues told Sherlock that he had spent the last few days at work to keep his mind off the pain, skipping at least one full night’s sleep, maybe more if he hadn’t napped at his desk, and more than likely running on nothing but caffeinated beverages. When he didn’t answer right away, Sherlock dug a cigarette out from under a sofa cushion and silently offered it to his brother. He was taken aback when he actually accepted it. At least to his knowledge, which included Mycroft’s MI6 surveillance, Sherrinford hadn’t smoked since graduating uni. Sherlock tossed him a lighter and it was only after several long drags that he became respondent again.

“I don’t know what to do, Sherlock,” he moaned. “It was all going to work out, but then Bond rushed everything and it all went to hell.”

“It went to hell when you decided a perfectly nice girl who loved you wasn’t good enough,” Sherlock corrected.

“Damn it, she was more than good enough! I love her, I just… I made a mistake and I need to fix it.”

The pleasure Sherlock had been gleaning from watching Sherrinford suffer suddenly ran dry. Molly deserved someone who cared more deeply for her than he or Tom ever could. It made him angrier than hell when he found out that his little brother cheated and he had penciled him in as another name on the list of men Molly was too good for. Seeing this though, the pure sincerity and hurt in Sherrinford’s eyes, made him question his decision. 

“First things first, you and Bond need to sort some things out very clearly,” he said. “Maybe then you can start groveling well enough for Molly to even consider talking to you.”

Sherrinford took another few breaths of smoke before extinguishing his cigarette and running a hand through the front of his hair. 

“I guess there’s no getting around that.”

Sherlock gave a quick, exhausted grin.

“Good. Now that you’ve worked through that, get out.”

***  
Q knew it was the small and petty thing to do, but he waited until James was on his flight to Nassau before picking up the phone to call him. Though a cowardly decision, he wasn’t sure how many face-to-face emotional encounters he could have before they would start crushing his ability to work. Not only was 007 going to be out of the country for at least two weeks, he had three other agents counting on him for their lives, and the sooner he could repair his relationship with Molly the better and safer everyone would be. James didn’t even bother greeting him from the other end of the line.

“We’re going to do this now?” 

“James, I love her, and there isn’t room for three in this relationship. I’m sorry.”

The line was silent for a few moments and Q held his breath. 

“Take very good care of her. And when she forgives you, make sure she remembers how very lucky she is to have you.”

Q had to fight through a knot in his throat to spit out, “I will,” just before Bond hung up the phone. In a small way, he wanted there to be more. Some grand finale fling for their desires to burn brighter and hotter than ever before fizzling out and leaving them both to carry on separate lives outside of MI6. Was it better this way, he wondered. He still couldn’t shake James’ words from their last night together. ‘I’m not ready to give you up.’ Had there been any substance to them, or just sweet nothings to get him to stay caught in the mood? A twinge of regret tried to pry into his thoughts, but he pushed it aside. There was a time and a place for James Bond, but it was neither here nor now. Putting his phone back into his bag, Q gathered his things. He still had to stop by the florist’s before going to Molly’s flat. 

The whole cab ride to Molly’s was one near panic attack after another. For a man who felt so calm and collected when peoples’ lives were in his hands, his nerves were surprisingly on edge, a sense of doom and peril hanging over his head as if this was his one chance to make the rest of his life matter. In a way, that wasn’t so far from being true. Though his feelings for James were still ambiguous, there was no doubt that he had never loved a woman so much as he had loved Dr. Molly Hooper. If he did not make that clear, he had no idea if there would ever be another chance. Upon arriving, he stood at the door without knocking for several moments of stillness, taking the time to draw deep and steady breathes. He would have murdered a man for a cigarette to relieve at least a bit of the anxiety, but had to bite his lip. On more than one occasion she had complained about Sherlock when he came into her lab reeking of tobacco, and even threatened to throw him out if he didn’t change his clothes and brush his teeth between smoking and using the morgue equipment. Harnessing the image of Molly swatting his older brother in the head with a notebook over foul smells, Q let out the breath he had been holding, took a tight grasp of the rose bouquet in his hand, and knocked on the door.

Exactly two minutes passed, and Q was afraid that Molly wasn’t going to answer, but right as he was about to turn away it cracked open just enough for him to see a single brown eye gazing out through the gap, roofed by a quizzically angled eyebrow. 

“James called. He said you would be here,” he barely heard her mumble through the muffle of the door. “He said a lot of things about you.” 

“May I come in?” he asked cautiously.

The solitary eye narrowed and glared at him for a moment, but after what appeared to be intense scrutiny, the door finally opened the rest of the way. Molly was still in her work clothes, makeup smudged from long hours of toil and braid beginning to twist free of its hairband. The skin under her eyes, though heavily caked in cream, was still obviously dark with sleeplessness or worry. She looked exhausted to say the least, and the lines around her eyes and mouth indicated that just about any weight could cause her to crumble. Was it, perhaps, Q selfishly dared to hope, that she missed him? She stepped aside without a word to allow him in, and he gingerly made his way into the living room, the boxes of his possessions still neatly piled in the corner. He pretended seeing them didn’t twist a knife deep in his stomach.

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, neither feeling comfortable enough to sit down. In an attempt to ease into conversation, Q held out the roses he had been gripping.

“They reminded me of the lipstick you wear whenever you dress up for a date,” he offered awkwardly, all eloquence and verbosity lost under the judgment in her face. 

“Thank you,” she responded meekly, but didn’t bother to take them. 

Q swallowed hard. It was time to sink or swim.

“I have made hundreds of mistakes in my lifetime. I have made mistakes that have cost good men and women their lives when there was no need for them to die. The most skilled people in this country trust me with their lives, and even though I am the best at what I do, I have still failed. But none of those mistakes even make the smallest slight compared to not giving you my undivided devotion. I am not going to lie to you, James and I have a chemistry that is undeniable and incredible and there will always be a part of me that wants him. I know myself well enough to recognize that I won’t always be strong enough to resist, and that is no one’s fault other than my own, but my heart is wholly and completely yours. You are everything that is solid and dependable and good in my life. I-“

He was about to delve into the most heartfelt, sincere apology he had ever constructed in his life when he was interrupted by the flowers being knocked out of his hands and Molly’s arms flung around his neck while her legs encircled his hips. Q stumbled backward, taken completely off guard, and hit the wall before he realized what had happened and quickly recovered by taking hold of her thighs to keep from dropping her. It was only then that he noticed she was both smiling and crying at the same time. He pursed his lips to keep from laughing.

“I-I forgive you,” Molly managed to rasp between giggling and weeping. 

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off again, this time by clasping her lips to his. It only took a few seconds for both of them to collapse to the floor in a fit of laughs and sobs and flailing limbs. However, they quickly quieted as Q looked directly into her eyes. Her smile faded into a look of awe and he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, hoping she could see in his own eyes all the promise and affection he hadn’t managed into his speech. Molly tilted her head so she could rest her cheek in his open palm. 

“You can unpack,” she whispered. “If you want.”

“That’s all I want.”

However, Q’s stomach started to unsettle when she thoughtfully bit down on the corner of her lip, looking up from under her lashes with a heightened air of coquettishness.

“You… you can also… play around every once in a while, I suppose… as long as it’s only with James… and you come straight home… with chocolate… If you want that too.” 

Q felt his face burn as it flushed what must have been an incredible hue of red, because Molly immediately broke down into another fit of laughing and crying.  
***  
“What the hell are you smiling at?” James snapped accusingly at his Quartermaster, who was leaning up against the side of his office door with a smirk that was just demanding to be slapped off his face.

“Not much…” Q hummed.

Bond started to take a sip of coffee right as Q finished with, “Just trying to decide whether or not I want to be on top tonight.”

James choked on his drink so loudly that Eve stopped to glance in as she was walking by. He quickly waved her away, not eager for the whole of MI6 to know he was capable of being taken by surprise. Q’s incorrigible grin got worse.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself before I make your death look like an accident,” he growled, using his shirt cuff to wipe up some coffee that had spilled onto the desk. 

Q shut the door, as it was fairly obvious that Eve was drifting nearby for the sole purpose of eavesdropping, before confidently striding over to Bond and taking a seat on the edge of the desk closest to where he was sitting, giving the leaner, shorter, man an uncharacteristic position of power. His specs usually made it hard for James to really read his eyes, but they were so close it was like skimming a book. Something had drastically changed, for the better it seemed. The weight that had been dragging him down since their first fling finally lifted. Even if the situation had shifted away from his favor, James decided that he like Q better this way. Lighter. Happier. He deserved it. Molly deserved it. But what the bloody hell?

“You leave for Rio de Janeiro in the morning and I want to say goodbye before you disappear for three weeks,” Q said innocently.

“Not good enough.”

Though the Quartermaster’s face was smug and self-assured, James saw the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Molly demands chocolate for appeasement. Meet me tonight at the Savoy on your card and bring Godiva.” 

Before Bond could work past the flabbergasted ties holding his lips shut, Q slid off the desk and flounced back to Q-Branch as if he had done nothing more than delivered a cup of tea. James groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. He couldn’t decide whether it was more appropriate to chuckle or turn in his retirement papers. However, he quickly made up his mind at the sound of high heels clicking on hardwood. James did not lift his head, refusing to give Moneypenny the satisfaction of seeing his face.

“French mistress to your cousin’s boyfriend? Family dinners must be hilarious.” 

He threw the coffee mug at her head. Eve sidestepped it gracefully, and sauntered away giggling to herself, “Bond. James Bond. The mistress.”

James finally leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. Molly owed him a very detailed explanation, and he owed Sherlock a text message. Bond was not completely sure of what was going on around him, between his beloved little cousin and the man he almost loved, or what was going on inside his own hypothalamus, whether or not he was fine with being the side object of the man he may or may not almost love. Either way, he decided that he was very much too old for it.


End file.
